'Is he finally going to tell me what the fuck has been going inside his head all this time?' Florian thought, eyeing Heinz's outstretched hand as though it were both an invitation and a trap. His throat tightened. 'Do I really need to hold his hand though and…'
But then—why was Heinz looking at him like that again?
So warmly.
Too warmly.
"For such a beautiful person, you have such low self-esteem."
Monica's voice whispered through his head like an echo, so out of place in this moment that it made his chest tighten. The words clung to him as he slowly raised his hand, hesitating before letting his fingers brush against Heinz's.
'What does low self-esteem have to do with any of this? I'm just being honest. Heinz would never… Heinz wouldn't—'
But his thoughts scattered the instant his gaze met Heinz's. That soft, crimson gaze. The kind that didn't pierce or command, but wrapped around him like velvet.
